


Oblivion Greets them Politely.

by BearBooper



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Just some angsty England honestly, Mentions of War, Not Romance, Oneshot, Really just him talking about loneliness and the curses of being a personification, wrote this when i was tired sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearBooper/pseuds/BearBooper
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is not human. Arthur is the Personification of England. Some days he really wishes he wasn't. Some days he dreams of nothingness.





	Oblivion Greets them Politely.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever dream in white space? I have.  
> \- Bear
> 
> " Wake up  
> Say good morning to that sleepy person lying next to you  
> If there's no one there, then there's no one there  
> But at least the war is over  
> It's us—yes, we're back again  
> Here to see you through, 'til the days end  
> And if the night comes, and the night will come  
> Well at least the war is over "  
> \- In our Bedroom after the war by Stars

Sometimes Arthur would allow his mind to slip into that silly little dream of what he called oblivion. It varies, the depiction in his head is always mumbled and fuzzy unless he sits down and focuses on the feeling of his little imaginary piece of emptiness. It’s not cold, it’s not warm- in fact, the empty space there is just as blank as his current conference notes: blank, lonely and quiet; free from any darkness. He ponders for a minute, sadly smiling at the thought; his idea of oblivion is very much like the notes he writes diligently...changing and rearranging but always conjured by the same broken man. Many days if it’s not blank and bright,  this corner of his mind is organised. Strictly made like a bullet-pointed list, coded with little quirks like plans of tomorrow, plans for today and certainly of plans he never finished. Other days it’s a messy scribble where nothing makes sense and something in him yearns for a colour besides the monochrome film he replays over in this little oblivion he has produced, He detests those days- He always felt queasy after thoughts like those.

Oblivion - his own name for these thoughts - first appeared when he was much too young, no child, personification or not, should be subjected to that locked cell of a psychological mind-trap. Things faded out and in either too quickly or took an eternity to even appear. Isolated and entirely demanding on your trust in yourself to not get carried away with the scary thoughts you lock there, Arthur remembered the first night he felt oblivion, he remembers countless other too of course. The strongest sense of oblivion he had felt must have been after the first world war. The dirt had smudged onto his skin as if it was apart of him. His eyes had been tired, and it felt he would be reborn too many times on this battlefield; every bloody moment in that trench he saw a fresh corpse he had died once more. Too many poets of that era wrote down legacies and the truth that death was no longer a gift of honour in combat, The Englishman could feel it in his own blood that once this was over... the gift of immortality would sour. He had gone many centuries without feeling so despondent, but as his people met modern warfare, when cavalries became parade killings, when the rush of technology soared human destruction to oblivion, he knew Oblivion would greet him again for more nights alone.

He isn’t always thrown into these frozen thoughts involuntarily though, after the issues in Afghanistan he recalled sitting in his office- sipping lukewarm tea, looking at his notes from Russia and allowing himself to question once again what he himself had been doing. Sitting alone, he closed his eyes and walked into oblivion openly, wanting his thoughts to sink in and to come to any decision as he allowed time to seemingly stop in his head. Country Personifications didn’t feel time anyway, but Oblivion made it seem like the concept of time truly was gone. For however long he was there his skin felt untouched, his hair felt free and his lips did not purse or open, only ambivalence marking that expression.

He witnessed someone else experience Oblivion once. A young colony of his, feeling the fear of war so early on. The sudden need to want things to perish, for everything to dissipate as if your doing was just a fleeting nightmare, a sensation which crawled up your spine asking for any bit of control and silence. They had asked him with tears in there wide eyes

_ “Why does it hurt? What is this? W-why am I feeling this way? It feels so...desolate...so empty..” _

It was almost as if he was being choked, suffocating on complex feelings towards the question that had been asked. His lungs empty and heart heavy, he looked at the young one. They hugged close that night- closing his ever-so sleepy eyes Arthur frowned, he retreated into oblivion just like the child did. The empty space where he was alone and nothing happened unless you remembered or you believed. It was almost sadly comforting. It would be much easier, he thought, if he were human. If pain truly did subside. If things didn’t drag on for so long. If he could forget. Immortality was a damaging spell, he never understood the drive humans had to strive for it. This place was a sanctuary but also a significantly powerful nightmare that lured you in...strongly...falling into...nothi-

His desk phone rang loudly as his head nearly collapsed from under his arm, the blonde haired man had been sitting in front of his paperwork, sinking too deeply into Oblivion again and was only awoken by the loud buzzing and obnoxious ringtone. France had just called regarding some economic talks, and that sleek voice was inquisitive enough to wonder about the lack of noise coming from the other end of the line. Arthur’s lips trembled as he turned to look out of his window once more, still breathing into the phone.

“I’m oh-so very tired Francis. Shall we meet for coffee? I’ll take the next train through the channel tunnel.” 

Those next 2 hours on his way out of his country, he smiled since he could pretend that he was not England for one...and that Oblivion was far gone.

**Author's Note:**

> "Lift your head and look out the window  
> Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go  
> Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!  
> All the living are dead, and the dead are all living  
> The war is over and we are beginning "  
> \- In our Bedroom after the war by Stars


End file.
